Be warned. The shoebox in the cupboard is stuffed with negatives and reject prints and slides up there, clinging stubbornly to some pretense of credibility about the way things were. Christmas ’65 alleges the sleeve on the dry paper clutching a packet of slides. 5 years before me. Mucking through the ill-focused polaroids, ghosts of Christmases past. Or relatives, removed. Yuletide archeology. It appears that colours were more vivid back then. We dressed for the occasion. Ties, Christmas red. Coordinate […]